


The Undoing of Heaven's Child

by BumbleAbeille



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Arranged Marriage, Fluff, For the sake of the story I'm just making God and Metatron Queen and King, Forbidden Love, M/M, Middle Ages, Royalty AU, Slow Burn, royal family of angels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-25 05:43:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19739470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BumbleAbeille/pseuds/BumbleAbeille
Summary: Aziraphale is the youngest of the royal heirs to the throne of Havenscape, but he's never quite fit in.  Uninterested in swordplay and the like, his most well kept secret is that of his disinterest in princesses.  His parents the King and Queen have been eager to marry off their children in an attempt to ally with as many kingdoms as possible so they may build an empire, and he's seemingly next.  Aziraphale has resigned himself to the idea of life with a princess- that is he had, before he found himself stumbling into the path of another prince by the name of Crowley.





	1. The Prince of Pages

Books. That was the only things that seemed to interest Aziraphale, to the great dismay of his family. Nearly every day he could be seen traveling to and from their library, new book in hand. It didn't seem to matter what they were about, only that there was coherent writing on the page. Of course there were worse hobbies, reading was respectable for a royal. That, of course, only applies if the royal in question has _other hobbies_.

The eldest son of the King and Queen was a young man by the name of Gabriel, who had quickly risen to be a respected tactician of the war council. The eldest daughter, and second born of the Monarchy was Michael. Skeptical and authoritarian, she was clearly the favorite. She prided herself on being ladylike, and very intolerant to criticism. And then there's... _Zira_. The bitterness in which the nickname is used by his siblings is not lost on him, but year of it has caused it to lose any impact it once had. _Zira. Zira.._

"Zira, for the love of everything holy will you get your head out of the clouds and listen to me for just a moment!" Michael's sharp tone cut through the pages of the book that Aziraphale had been lost in, abruptly bringing him back to reality.

"My...my apologies. I'm listening," he snapped his head up to face his sister, his voice soft with remorse. Michael sighed curtly and resumed her statement.

"Gabriel is to be wed to the eldest princess of Dredid in exactly a fortnight now, and mother is insisting you and I should make an attempt to meet her siblings," she cleared her throat, " _just in case_."

Aziraphale's stomach flipped at the implication. He'd forced himself to make peace with the reality of marrying a princess, but so soon... he wasn't sure if he was ready for something like that. _No, he had to be. His brother could do it, so could he. This kind of fear must certainly be normal, having never been in a relationship before._ Aziraphale set his book aside and stood to face his sister,

"I'll be in the garden." His voice shook involuntarily, but he imagined Michael thought nothing of it at this point. _They all thought he was strange._ He scuffled out of the library, met with the winding halls of the rest of the castle. Above him, the stained glass ceiling was blurry, a headache beginning to form. He hurried his pace, but was no longer consciously aware of the steps he took. It was perhaps like being lost in thought, except his mind was completely blank. The harshness of the cold air in his lungs jolted him back into a state of awareness. Aziraphale blinked a few times, focusing his gaze on the rose bushes ahead of him. He wandered to the deep red ones, the ones he insisted to the gardeners that he would take care of. Gently, he lifted one of the blooms with his hand, observing the small dewdrops that rested on it.

"You're growing so well," he muttered sweetly, as though the thorn bush could hear him, "I suppose the rain makes my job a bit easier."

Just as gently as he'd lifted the bloom, he lowered it so it may rest. The cobblestone beneath Aziraphale's feet was slick from the previous night's misting, giving the garden a unique smell that only occurred after rain in the summer.

"Aziraphale," a honeyed voice called, "I'm going hunting, join me." 

_Gabriel. Of course._

Aziraphale's elder brother had always been quite fond of hunting, perhaps it was the feeling of being more powerful, being a predator hunter prey, or just the pride of bringing home a kill that drew him to it. Whatever it was, Aziraphale couldn't relate. Despite this, he knew that his brother would be far more occupied once he was married and likely in charge of Havenscape's extended land, which meant he wouldn't see much of him anymore. It mattered not their interaction, Aziraphale would just be glad to spend time with his sibling before he left.

They rode on horseback from the kingdom to the forest surrounding, taking a route specifically designed to keep them out of the way of commoners.

"So, my wife-to-be has a younger sister," Gabriel stressed, "I believe her name is Dagon."

"Who of that family will be attending the wedding?" Aziraphale blurted, attempting to divert the subject. Gabriel rolled his eyes and the blatant attempt to avoid the discussion, but he acquiesced.

"Her brothers will also be attending, the younger being Hastur, one of Dredid's most promising. The elder is...kindly, a poor excuse for royalty." Now, this. This piqued Aziraphale's interest.

"However do you mean," he pried, desperate to hear anything interesting. "Surely it couldn't be that bad?" The look on Gabriel's face though, oh dear. It's that bad.

"I've met him myself," he growled, accompanied by a huff of exasperation, "The lad can't even _sit_ like a proper royal. Slouches like some drunken peasant, oh and the way he _walks-_ I swear you'd think the dragged him off the streets. Now, that's not even the worst part. The _disrespect,_ every word that leaves his mouth is condescending, no matter who he's speaking to. It's as though he believes everyone around him is a fool!" The venom in the high prince's words could have killed a man, but Aziraphale was nothing if not intrigued.

"What did you say his name was, brother?" he inquired with a slight tilt of his head.

" _Crowley_."


	2. The (Questionable) Prince of Serpents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the Kingdom of Dredid, the eldest prince hasn't exactly been cooperative with his family's attempts at finding him a princess. He's been berated by harsh judgement for nearly everything he does, and now he's being forced to attend some royal wedding and "mingle" with the other royals. What a nightmare.

"What?" Crowley growled, meeting the dark eyes of the giant animal before him, "Why are you looking at me like that, because we haven't gone for a ride in a while? The weather's been terrible, sorry I don't feel like getting soaked on a _lovely afternoon trot_."

The inky black stallion whinnied in disapproval, prancing around in a show of defiance.

"What do you want from me, Bentley? _We're not going for a ride._ " he reaffirmed, scowling at his horse. They locked eyes, seemingly having an argument without actually communicating. "Oh for-"

It was a misty afternoon, not ideal riding conditions, but Crowley was just going to have to deal with it. Beyond the looming castle of Dredid was an expansive forest that spread all the way to Havenscape, a shining kingdom with prim and proper royalty...and a powerful army, which is likely the reason his parents were so keen on Beelzebub marrying it's eldest prince. Dredid was not a humble kingdom itself, it had a sizable army of well trained soldiers, and plenty of crop to feed the citizens. The royalty weren't as horribly fixed on manners as Havenscape, which is why Crowley could get away with acting like he did, but they were still respectable and organized, which was why Crowley was disliked for acting like he did.

"Woah, Bentley," he addressed the stallion. They came to a halt in front of an old shack that hunters used to store their kills in during overnight trips, since abandoned and overgrown with moss and ivy. Crowley dismounted his horse, dropping to the ground with a muffled thud. Around the outer walls of the shack grew small plants that would look like nothing more than shrubs to the untrained eye, but Crowley could identify the different herbs dashed here and there.

"Well that's just pitiful," he snapped at a small Chamomile bush, plucking a few heads from their stems, "I would have thought you'd have a bit more for me, suppose not." Suddenly he whipped around to face the underbrush of the woods, he could hear twigs snapping. From the forest burst his guards, Alan and Rory, on horseback.

"Milord," Alan sighed, "I'm afraid you can't just leave without telling anybody." 

This, of course, wasn't the first time Crowley had disappeared without informing his personal guards, but this particular trip just happened to be poorly timed.

"His Highness the King has summoned you and your siblings to the council room, and if you don't make haste you _will_ be tardy," Rory followed up his companions comment. Crowley couldn't help but scoff, _as if they expect me to show on time_. Despite his inner turmoil, he carefully packed away the Chamomile heads in a jar he'd brought along and mounted Bentley, begrudgingly beginning his ride towards home.

"You're _late_ ," the King boomed, his gaze resting sourly on Crowley.

" _And_ _?_ " he jeered in response, eliciting a deadly gaze from his father. Beside him he could hear his siblings grumbling, clearly tired of his attitude. _Good, he's been tired of them for years_. 

"In exactly a sennight, Beelzebub is to be wed to the high prince of Havenscape, Gabriel. As you all know, he has two younger siblings- a sister and a brother by the names of Michael and...Aziraphale." The hesitation in the Kings voice was curious to say the least, something Dagon clearly picked up on.

"Father, if I may," she waited for his nod of approval, "why did you say his name like that?" Their father pursed his lips and inhaled sharply though his nose, the right words hanging from his lips.

"In my past discussions with the King Metatron, he has expressed concern that Aziraphale has shown a severe..lack of interest in the matters of marriage and politics, rather it's hard to find him without a book in hand. He's unsure that the prince is ready for the commitment that is marriage, but I trust, Dagon, that you may be able to change his mind. Unlike your brother, he is still a respectful, _proper_ royal."

Proper.

What a nightmare.


	3. Who are you?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding of the High Prince of Havenscape and the Princess of Dredid will be a historical moment of unity between the kingdoms, and it will give the other royal children the chance to get to know one another. Princess Dagon is not all that eager to have to mingle with some immature librarian of a prince, but the idea of marriage and individuality from her family drives her. Unfortunately, the young prince of Havenscape's attention has already been drawn to somebody else.

Aziraphale was in his room reading when the Royal family of Dredid arrived. This was, decidedly, not where he was meant to be. Nobody had bothered to come retrieve him, which was hardly a surprise. So, he found himself rushing down three flights of stairs as the Dredid royals entered the castle. In the throne room, his family stood in a row- they were just missing one. He scurried to his place at end of the line, his face scrunched up with embarrassment.

"You were supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago," Michael hissed quietly as the royal family of Dredid descended down the hall. He was too late for them to have missed his uncomfortably rushed entrance, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

Finally the families stood face to face with one another, the Kings of both monarchies stepping forward to greet each other. Aziraphale dropped his gaze to the ground, shame burning across his face. He could feel the eyes on him, judging, tearing him apart. He was grateful for the moment in which everyone's attention was diverted to the meeting of the two kings. 

Slowly he lifted his gaze, relieved to find nobody looking at him. Aziraphale allowed himself this moment to observe the family. At the head of the small group was Lucifer, the reigning king. Draped in blood red robes, his presence alone could silence a hall of people. Beside him stood his eldest daughter Beelzebub, her short black hair swept neatly to the side. Similarly, her younger sister Dagon had deep, black hair- contrasting with her pale skin. Only, Dagon's hair was long enough that it could be put up into a bun. Next down the line was Hastur, with notably white hair for his age-him being the youngest. Then- oh. Standing adjacent to Hastur was a lanky man with spiked, fiery red hair. His posture suggested he didn't have a single damn to give about the situation or how he was representing his family. Aziraphale momentarily locked eyes with the prince, stunned by the piercing yellow of his eyes. Quickly, he ripped his gaze away and turned his attention to his father and Dredid's king.

_So, that's Crowley._

_\----------------_

_So, that's Aziraphale._

Of course, it had to be, given that Gabriel was the only other son of Havenscape's monarchy-but that was hardly what would've given in away. If there had, for some reason, been any doubt that this curly haired blond was Aziraphale, his late stumbling into line would have cemented his identity.

The kings met, his family was guided to temporary quarters for the wedding, and Crowley found himself alone in an unfamiliar room, in an unfamiliar castle. The room was...posh, to say the least, from the curtains to the trim around the door frame. Outside, light rain trickled down the glass pane of the window, blurring any sort of view Crowley may have had. He quickly turned his attention to the mess of footsteps in the hall beyond the door.

"What the hell is wrong with you," a young woman's voice hissed, "Do you have any idea how embarrassing you are? If you could pull your head out of the clouds for just a moment perhaps you could _actually_ do something _right_." The barrage of criticism was all too familiar to the prince, he couldn't help but pity whomever was on the receiving end.

"Michael, my sincerest of apologies, but-" a gentle voice shook in response.

"I don't want to hear it, _Zira_. You're absolutely disgraceful, you know that? Do your very best to not make a fool of us all at the wedding, won't you?" 

For a moment there was silence outside the door, before soft footsteps disappeared. 

_Zira? Who- ohhhh, Aziraphale._

_You're alone, aren't you? Just like me._

_If not them, Aziraphale, tell me-_

_Who are you?_


	4. The Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale needs time to think, so he retreats to the only place he feels sane. He wasn't expecting to meet anybody there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N
> 
> Thank you all for your support! It really means a lot and I'm glad you're enjoying the fic!

_You wish me to not make a fool of us all at the wedding?_

_As you wish, sister._

_I shan't attend._

The sun hadn't risen, but Aziraphale had. Today was the day his brother was to wed Beelzebub and bring together their kingdoms in alliance, already castle staff scrambled to prepare the throne room hall for the union. Softly Aziraphale strode down the hall, doing his best to avoid any interaction. The creak of the door as he slipped out into the morning air was easily missed by the preoccupied faculty, focused on nothing but the event to come. Outside it was almost warm, despite how early in the day it was. Above him, the clouds reflected the daybreak behind the mountains, capturing the glow of the sun that the kingdom was not yet graced with. 

Aziraphale sat before his rose bush, the cobblestone ground certainly wasn't the definition of comfort, but the silent garden was awake with beautiful aromas and a sense of surrealism that brought him a much needed sense of peace.

"I thought a posh place like this might have some benches somewhere at least," a smokey voice cooed from behind him, "can I sit with you?"

Aziraphale flicked his gaze up to where the voice had come from, revealing the disdained prince of Dredid. He nodded absently, shifting to give Crowley space- not that he needed to, considering there was plenty of room on the edge of the path.

"Erm, Crowley, correct?" he managed, desperate not to sound like he had already heard terrible rumors.

"That's right," the fiery haired prince growled in response, "And you're Aziraphale- my father mentioned you. I've already met your brother."

"Ah, yes. He told me some about you."

"Let me guess, he hates me already?" There was a smug grin plastered on Crowley's face, as though that'd been his intention.

"No, of course not! He just," Aziraphale fumbled for words, but came up empty. "...yes."

They sat in silence for a moment, seemingly just allowing the world around them to turn. The birds sung they're daylight songs and dark clouds rolled in above their heads.

"I don't like it," Crowley blurted, breaking the silence. Aziraphale opened his mouth to ask what in particular the prince was referring to, but his question was answered before the words could make it out. "This whole arranged marriage...stuff. It's like we're all just political pawns to them." The bitterness in his tone was unmistakeable.

"Perhaps... but," Aziraphale reasoned, "it must be necessary to the stability of our kingdoms, why would we do it otherwise?"

"Do you _really_ believe that being forced to marry random princesses from random kingdoms is helping our people, or are you just rationalizing it because you're afraid to ask questions?" There was yet another long silence, not including the distant rumbles of thunder that plagued the forests beyond Havenscape. "The roses are beautiful," Crowley muttered, Aziraphale could see his eyes gently observing the flowers.

"Oh, why thank you! I actually take care of these ones, gives me something to do in my free time-" a rather large droplet of rain splashed across the ground between them, bringing their attention to the looming darkness. "There's a pavilion just over there, if you would like to stay outside with me." Aziraphale gestured vaguely across the flower filled courtyard, climbing off the ground. Crowley followed suit and nodded in agreement, following him in silence.

"Everyone is so ecstatic about this wedding," the Dredid prince's yellow eyes fixed on a tall sunflower across the garden, "what about you? You don't seem to be partaking in all the _excitement_." Aziraphale released a disappointed sigh, 

"Wherever I go I seem to muck things up somehow, I don't wish that upon my brother's wedding so...I'm not going."

"Well neither am I, but I'm only doing it to spite my father," Crowley's piercing yellow eyes softened slightly, "but you, you're really willing to feed into their delusion of what you are?"

"What...I am?"

"A mistake."

They sat in silence yet again, the soft rain splattering against the wooden roof of the pavilion.

"If neither of us are going to the wedding," Aziraphale suggested quietly, "why not just meet out here, be independent together for a while? There can't be any harm in that." Crowley gave him a lopsided smile, 

"I can't argue with that."


End file.
